


Let it Snow

by ForgivenWhimsy



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Aftercare, Au Ra Head Canon, Biting, Blow Jobs, Cunnilingus, Enthusiastic Consent, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Light Dom/sub, Self-Indulgent, Starlight fluff, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, holiday fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:15:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28315140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForgivenWhimsy/pseuds/ForgivenWhimsy
Summary: When Aymeric fails to show up to the annual Fortemps Starlight party, Warrior of Light, Shiloh Mitka, takes matters into her own hands. Braving a fierce Coerthan blizzard to reach the over worked Lord Commander. No one should spend Starlight alone, Aymeric included.
Relationships: Aymeric de Borel/Warrior of Light
Comments: 6
Kudos: 73





	1. The Weather Outside is Frightful

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of the most self indulgent pieces I have written in a very long time. I love Holiday themes, and I love these two together.

The wind howls through the tunnels connecting the Pillars to Foundation. The snow, if the tiny icy knives can be called snow, fall sideways, cutting into exposed skin. The air is heavy and damp, seeping directly into any unfortunate traveler's bones. It’s the kind of weather that aggravates old wounds, and old joints, the kind that claims the lives of the unwary. Halone’s own fury batters the city perched atop the peak of a mountain. Shiloh squints against the onslaught, each step through the heavy snow slow and measured, there’s ice beneath the snow, and unfortunate falls were not uncommon in Ishgard under these conditions. 

  
  


There’s no turning back, her destination and her starting point stood at equal distance, so she soldiers through the snow drifts piling up throughout the tunnels. The Warrior of Light is bundled in what was an almost comical amount of layers, tail and horns wrapped in custom made knit scarves. Golden eyes and a bright red nose poke past her knit hat and the scarf she has wrapped around her face. Mittened hands clutch a small blue and silver box, fingers nearly gone numb, her toes not faring much better as they tramp through the ever deepening snow blanketing the city streets. Lord Edmont’s urging for her to change before leaving rings in her ears, and she regrets ignoring his advice. When she emerges from the tunnels she’s not sure if the wind is worse or better. The snow renews its attempt to bury her, or transform her into a snowman, her pace slows in the heavier accumulation, but at least now she can see her goal. 

  
  


The doors to the congregation are flung open with a deafening slam, Shiloh turns and struggles to close them. The blowing snow eager to claim whatever space it can. Gone are Handeloup and Lucia, gone are the scribes, and the chirugeons, gone are the Temple Knights, all but one. It was Starlight eve afterall, and the Lord Commander insisted that those under his charge be with their loved ones, out of the cold on Ishgard’s most sacred night. That he didn’t apply the same compassion to himself fuels Shiloh’s frustration and gives her the additional strength she needs to finally close the heavy wooden double doors against the storm. A sigh puffs from her lips and she slides down the rattling wood, a draft flitting through the bottom cracks, she’s too drained, too cold from her trek to move. Aymeric runs into the congregation's main chamber, sword drawn, only to be met by the sight of Shiloh’s half buried figure, more snow then Au Ra, sitting on the floor.

“Shiloh?” He sheaths his weapon and hurries to her side. “What are you doing here? You should be with the Fortemps.” 

“So should you.” Shiloh lifts the small gift she’d clutched to her heart in an effort to protect the shiny blue wrapping paper and delicate silver ribbons she’d taken such pains to get just right. “Happy Starlight?” She tugs the scarf from her face, and wills her lips to stop chattering long enough to give him what she hopes is a sweet smile. 

“You’re frozen solid.” He looks from the gift to her shivering lips more blue then pink. “I have a gift for you as well, though I was prepared to deliver it in the morning, after the blizzard. As you should have done.” He admonishes while helping her to her feet. 

“And why should you be the only one in this city to spend Starlight alone?” Her indignation is tempered by how gently he treats her, pulling off her outer coat, the snow quickly melting, and seeping into the material. Slowly he unwinds the myriad of scarves adorning her horns and tail, pulls the knit hat from her head by the pom. Shiloh tugs off her mittens, the tips of her fingers shiver as hard as the rest of her. Her shoulders are bare, the loose sleeves of her dress and her bodice are held up by a leather corset, the skirt uneven, short in the front, and long and tired in the back. Her stockings stop right before the front of the skirt, offering a tantalizing peak of pale skin and scales. The latest Ishgardian fashion. She’d bought the dress specifically for the Fortemps Starlight party, specifically in a bright royal blue, specifically because Aymeric would be there. Not that she would admit it out loud. 

  
  


Aymeric, for his part, has the good grace to look guilty, as he drapes her now dripping outerwear on the empty war table to dry. He pulls his outer mantle off and drapes it over her shoulders, it’s heavy and body warmed and pools at her feet. Her entire body shudders in relief at the welcome heat. When her nose is sufficiently thawed she finds herself surrounded by his scent, polished steel, ink, and something familiar, spicy but sweet, that she can’t quite place. She nuzzles the material and offers him a shy thanks. 

“I’ve spent a great many Starlights alone, I’m no stranger to it.” Aymeric takes her hands in his, rubbing the tips of her fingers, blowing warm air onto them. His hands are warm, encompassing the whole of hers. Long and elegant, littered with small scars, were one minded enough to look; there is strength in those hands, and kindness. She grips them tightly. 

“It doesn’t make it right.” Shiloh’s voice is close to a whisper, she looks up into his devastating eyes, “especially where there are a great many people who care about you, who sorely missed your company, who look forward to it even.” 

Aymeric brings her chilled fingers to his lips, and presses a soft but scaling kiss upon them, “forgive me.” 

“You know I do.” Shiloh answers, and Aymeric’s face blooms into warm affection. 

“Come, there’s a fire in my office, and I have some mulled wine that will warm you in no time.” he tugs her along by the hand, and she follows him through the stone building, his mantle dragging behind her. 

Aymeric’s office is spacious but comfortable, a fire roars on the far wall, a bear skin rug warms the stone floors. His heavy and tall wooden chair and a small table have been dragged in front of the fireplace. A half drunk glass of spiced wine, and an unfurled treatise of something or another sits on the table. Aymeric rushes towards his chair, grabbing the treatise to put away, urging Shiloh to sit by the fire. 

“Sit, warm yourself, would you like some mulled wine?” He stops himself, “I need to fetch another cup, are you hungry? If you give me but a moment, I’ll be back with a small snack and something to drink.” 

The fire beckons, and Shiloh doesn’t resist, taking the proffered seat. She wraps herself in the thick fabric of his mantle and accepts Aymerics offer. His smile is boyish, and his nervousness endearing, his demeanor reminding Shiloh of their shared, interrupted, meal, which feels far too long ago. He hurries out the door with a promise to return quickly. She feels tiny in his chair, feet not touching the floor. Restless, she jumps from the chair and sits on the rug, closer to the fire. She pulls her damp boots off to free her freezing toes. She fans Aymerics mantle around her, covered save for her feet, which stick out towards the fire. Painful pins and needles bloom in her feet as they thaw. Shiloh wiggles her toes and winces, waits for the sensation to pass. 

Aymeric returns to her studying the less than perfect gift box, biting her lip before tucking back under the mantle. He sets a tray of mishappen Starlight cookies beside her, hands her a glass of mulled wine before he settles down beside her on the rug. Shiloh wraps her hands around the warm glass and inhales the fragrant steam and turns to thank him but her words stop on her tongue. He’s removed the bulk of his armor, and Shiloh finds her throat going dry to see him in trousers, his distractingly form fitting undershirt and his long fingerless gloves. She glances away, afraid to be caught staring, and turns her attention back to the cookies. 

“Ah, yes, Lucia’s newest hobby. Baking.” He picks up a cookie, “Don’t let appearances fool you, they’re quite good.” 

“Lucia bakes?” Shiloh is delightfully surprised and gingerly takes one from the tray, the shape, she assumes to be an attempt at a snowman. The icing has run at some point and what she guesses were once eyes and a nose are ominous black globs running down the whole of the cookie, mixing with the uneven white icing. She watches Aymeric take a bite, and follows in turn, the shortbread is flaky and tender, melting on her tongue. Shiloh moans at the flavour, and nods at Aymeric, talking around the last of her bite. “They’re really good!” 

“As I said. I’ll be sure to tell her you think so.” He raises his cup, Shiloh raises hers in turn and they clink their glasses. “Santé.” 

“Santé.” She echoes the simple Ishgardian toast, a wish for health.

“Since you came all this way, it seems only fair that you open your gift first.” Aymeric hands her a long flat box wrapped in red wrapping paper and a gold bow. The attached tag has Shiloh’s name written in Aymerics looping script. A script she knows well from their ongoing correspondence. 

She is terribly curious and opens it quickly. Aymeric chuckles at her excitement. The box is velvet, and opens on small brass hinges. Within, on a chain of delicate white gold, hung a pear shaped sapphire. The style is understated, but elegant in its simplicity, and utterly to Shiloh’s taste. She holds it to the light watching the firelight dance along the walls filtered through the gems facets like starlight. 

“Aymeric, it’s beautiful.” Shiloh says. “Thank you.” 

“I’m glad.” His expression is soft, a gentle smile graces his full lips. His eyes are bright in the dark and Shiloh feels suddenly too warm. 

“Could you?” She asks nodding down towards herself, “Could you help me put it on?” 

“By all means.” Aymeric sets his drink down and moves behind her on his knees. She doesn’t miss the sharp intake of breath when she drops the mantle from her bare shoulders. Aymeric clears his throat behind her. 

“It’s no wonder you were so cold, facing a blizzard wearing such a dress.” 

“Maybe if someone had come to the Fortemps party, as invited, I wouldn’t have had to.” She looks over her shoulder towards him in time to see him wet his lips. 

“A very foolish individual, indeed.” His voice has dropped, like soft velvet. Aymeric sets the necklace on her collarbone. Shiloh pulls her hair out of the way and tries and fails to control the short breath that escapes her when his long fingers, featherlight in their touch, hook the fastener. 

He returns to his seat beside her, to observe his handy work, the chain is subtle against her ivory scales, but the pendant is striking, complimenting her dress perfectly. 

“Your turn.” Shiloh hands him his gift, the wrapping paper gone soggy thanks to her flight through the storm, the bow undone and bent. 

Aymeric is far more careful in his unwrapping, and Shiloh teases him, the ruined paper hardly deserving such care. His mien takes on a more serious expression when he opens the small square box. He pulls out a fine silver pocket watch, the ancient symbol of Halone etched on the front in finely wrought detail. He clicks the top and the door swings open, within is a small sketch of her likeness and a dried sprig of lavender, opposite the clock. Aymeric’s brow furrows slightly, his mouth opens as if to speak but no words come out. The seconds tick by on the open watch. 

“Do you like it?” She bites her lip, worried that perhaps he was trying to find a polite way to thank her for a gift he didn’t care for. Or perhaps she’d read him wrong from the start, and he found it too personal, too presumptuous. Surely, he feels it too, he’d just given her that necklace. Surely? ”It’s ok, if it’s not to your taste, I can always go back to Ul’dah and--”

“Forgive me,” He looks from the watch cradled in his hand to Shiloh, his smile warm as a summer's day, “truly, the craftsmanship is remarkable, but I find that the personalized additions are what make this gift a treasure. Thank you, my dea--thank you Shiloh.” He closes the watch passing his thumb over etching, carefully setting it back in it’s box. 

“Maybe now you’ll be reminded to take breaks between running from parliament, and the congregation, and to whatever other meetings in between.” She feels especially warm, because he’s smiling at her, and her hand was in his. Aymeric’s thumb skates over her knuckles, the heat rippling over her like a stone skipping over still water. 

“I thought the saying was to stop and smell the roses? Not stop and smell the lavender.” He’s teasing her, but she finds she likes this teasing, likes the promise in his eyes. 

“Lavender has medicinal properties, and is clinically proven to have calming effects, which is always good for the constitution, especially for those in high stress positions. That, and a rose wouldn’t fit.” She gives him a playful smirk. Aymeric chuckles. He moves the tray of cookies away, takes her glass of wine from her hands, and sets it beside his own, out of the way.

“Is that why?” Aymeric is close, leaning on one arm. He tucks a strand of hair behind her horn, dragging his little finger along the scales, creating a pleasant reverberation. “It has nothing at all to do with the lavender perfume you wear?” He tilts his head, a teasing twinkle tucked along the naked desire in his gaze. 

“Happy coincidence.” She means it as a jest but her voice is breathless. 

“May I kiss you?” There’s a roughness in his timber, as his hand slowly traces her jaw line.

“Yes.” 

He kisses her in the same breath.


	2. But the Fire is so Delightful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Passions spill over in the wake of such thoughtful gifts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pure unadulterated porn.

Aymeric’s kiss is slow, and deliberate, his lips soft but electric, each press, each slide setting her nerves alight, muddling her thoughts, until all she needs is his lips on hers. Shiloh touches his jaw; his hair is as silken as it looks and she cards her fingers through. Aymeric makes a noise in the back of his throat and adjusts his hold on her, pulling her closer so that she is braced on his chest, up on her knees between his legs. She squeaks in surprise and her Lord Commander is not one to squander an opportunity. He deepens the kiss, his tongue slipping along hers, she melts, wraps her arms around his neck, they taste like wine and cookies, and she hums in bliss. The arm he’s leaning on moves to circle her waist, he shifts and he pulls her flush, in this position they are nearly face to face, caged by his long legs. They break the kiss both breathing hard. Eyes glassy, hungry, pupils blown wide. 

Neither asks for a second kiss, tightly held passion pouring forth in the wake of their naked feelings, Shiloh pushes him to lie on the bearskin rug, chasing him with her lips. He is solid and warm beneath her, his hands trail down her back, while she places open mouthed kisses along the column of his neck. She can see his pulse flutter beneath his skin and grazes him with her teeth only to suck on the gently dancing skin, his moan echoing in her bones. Her world spins and she is laying on the soft fur of the rug, Aymeric looming over her. He claims her mouth, stealing her breath and shifts to slot between her legs. A hand travels down to play with the ruffles of her dress just above the swell of her breasts, fingering the bow before dragging down her corset accented waist pausing at her hips, fisting into the fabric of her dress, rucking up the already short skirt. His touch, his kiss speaks of long simmering yearning.

Soft lips travel down her jaw, to her neck, stopping briefly at the ivory scales, warm and soft, not dissimilar to the scales of a dragon, only smaller. Aymeric mouths at them, “Can you tell me what they feel like? Your scales?” 

“They’re sensitive, but different then skin, it’s deeper almost. Certain touches are muted, others more vivid.” She tilts her head granting him more access to what interested him. 

“Can you feel me kiss you?” and he kisses her softly. 

“Too gentle.” Shiloh hums, it almost tickles.

He tries again this time licking a heated strip, Shiloh’s inhale is sharp, “better, use your teeth.” 

His next kiss opens and he bites down on the scales of her throat. The reaction is almost immediate, with heat and levin sparking across her body, making her bow, she clutches the back of his head to her neck, holding him there. It’s instinctual, a response found in most all Au Ra.

“Just like that.” She’s pants out, every nerve sprung to life, and humming with energy, which surges to her core with every touch, every breath. She wraps her legs around him, heels on his backside, urging him closer. Instead Aymeric pulls back to sit on his haunches and pulls her legs from around his waist, skimming his fingers along her calves and inner thighs, stopping short of indecent, she whines in frustration. “Told you it was sensitive.” 

“By the Fury, Shiloh.” His hands are on her open thighs, spreading her wider before him, all hunger and unshackled passion. She’s breathing hard, her blush painting her skin in great splashes of red, in contrast her ivory scales glow in the fire light, her tale tapping the tempo of her heart. Her hair, which had begun the night in a soft updo has come completely undone, leaving her haloed in mussed blonde. She pants open mouthed, and he glances down, her displaced and rucked skirt does nothing to hide her smalls, more lace than substance, and they are already damp with her arousal, she looks and feels utterly debauched. Aymeric wets his lips at the sight. He’s backlit by the fire, achingly beautiful. Her heart flutters, entirely and happily at his mercy. 

“You are more beautiful than any dream I might have conjured.” His voice rumbles, dipped in lust. 

She touches herself, bringing her hands across her breasts, tugging the bow holding the top of the dress together, and she spills, not quite escaping the confines of her blue dress. 

“Aymeric, touch me.” She whines, writhing under his heated gaze. “Please.” 

He groans at her plea and bends over her to tug her dress out of the way cupping her breast, encompassed by his large hand to take her into his mouth, grazing his teeth over her hard nipple, pulling a heady moan from her lips. He repeats the action with her other breast. Shiloh is working the clasps of her corset free and when it does come undone her breath heaves before Aymeric catches her tongue, demanding and possessive, callused thumbs toying with her nipples, drinking down her needy cries. He breaks the kiss, a look of dark mischief in his eyes. 

“Can you stand for me?” He asks. 

“With help.” 

So he does, and her dress flutters from her body leaving her in naught but her black lace smalls, and her stockings. Aymeric remains kneeling, so she can brace against his shoulders. He kisses her stomach, between her breasts, wraps his arms around her to cup her backside and squeeze. 

“My dearest, I would devour you.” He gently bites at her hip bone before turning a wicked grin up at her. “While you sit on the seat of the Lord Commander.” He nods to the tall, too big chair he’d invited her to sit in when she first arrived. His chair, where he conducts his business, and commands the armies of Ishgard, a symbol that bespoke of his power, however humbly he may present himself. The idea makes her giddy.

“Something to think about during those tedious meetings?” Shiloh asks, breathless and amused, humming as he drops butterfly kisses along her stomach, she runs her fingers through the silk of his hair, urging more soft growls from his throat. 

He nods his assent, withdrawing his touch so he can pull off his undershirt, leaving him in his straining trousers, and fingerless gloves. “Precisely.” 

Shiloh licks her lips, dragging her nails across his well defined shoulders, feeling him shudder at her touch. She dances out of his reach with a playful grin, hooks her thumbs into her smalls, teasing at the waistband and slides them down, bending at the waist, her tail high in the air, offering Aymeric a brief glimpse of her bare cunt and plump ass. She looks over her shoulder, and watches him rise to his feet, graceful, and strong, and her breath catches at his predatory beauty. His blue eyes grown dark and bright with his desire, a flutter of anticipation, bordering fear grips her heart when he stalks towards her. 

“Do be a good girl, and sit.” His honeyed voice cannot belie the inherent command in his words. She hops up into his chair, legs dangling, she crosses them.

“Yes Lord Commander.” She breathes out, more than willing to obey. He leans on the arms of the chair caging her, forcing her backwards. 

“Spread your legs.” He growls against her horn, and she moans in response, uncrossing her legs and opens them as wide as the chair will allow. 

Aymeric, nuzzles her jaw, tilting her head to the side baring her throat, his gloved hands travel down her body, and the soft leather of his gloves and the calluses on his long fingers trail sparks across her skin and scales, stopping to rest on her inner thigh. 

“Gods, Aymeric.” She moans out. 

“I have dreamt of you in this very position more times than I can count, imagined how you would feel, and taste, and sound coming apart by my hand, by my mouth, by my cock.” He brings a hand to her face, slips his thumb into her open mouth, presses it against her tongue. Shiloh laps at the digit, sucking it into her mouth, never breaking eye contact with him, spellbound by the sinful words dropping from his perfect lips. “I have spilled my seed dreaming of the heat of your cunt and the willingness of your mouth, and I will dream no longer.” He pulls his thumb from her lips, and sweeps it across an aching nipple. 

He bites her, as he’d learned before, and she cries out, body jerking, her cry bordering a scream. She brings a fist to her mouth to stifle her desperation, but Aymeric catches her wrist, setting her shaking hand back on the arm of his chair. He licks and kisses the indent he’s left on her scales and kneels before her. 

“I want your pleasure to fill these halls. I would hear you, every breath, and scream, and sob I can wring from you. Am I understood, my dearest?” Her nod is short, Aymeric arches a dark brow at her, pulling her forward, bringing a leg up over his shoulder, he kisses her inner knee.

“Yes.” She husks out. And his answering smile is dark with promise. 

“Your hands are to remain on the arms of the chair. Am I clear?” He pulls her second leg over his shoulder, kissing the opposite knee. 

“Yes.” Shiloh’s voice is high, and tight. And her fingers curl into the wood of the chair in a white knuckled grip. 

Aymeric kisses down her thigh, bands an arm around her hip to keep her in place, and watches her as his tongue slips between her folds. Shiloh can’t hold his gaze, desperate golden eyes flutter shut, and her head falls back, as levin brusts in her core. Aymeric licks her again, long, and deliberate dipping into her core catching her lust on his tongue before circling her pearl, the pressure he offers is indirect and maddening, stopping short of flicking his tongue directly on her clit, prefering to tease her hood, and lips to drive her higher. And she is driven high, weightless, dizzying heights with every pass of his silken tongue. Aymeric keeps her anchored with his strong arm, and he holds her still, everytime she tries to cant her hips to chase his wicked lips. Shiloh is desperate to guide his mouth with her hands on the back of his head, but she’s promised him. And so she grips the arms of his chair, digs her heels into his shoulder blades, and still he keeps his pace slow and sedate just shy of what she needs. She bites off a frustrated sob. 

  
  


“Please Aymeric, I need more.” He smiles against her folds, and kisses her clit, sets his tongue against it, short focused flicks the slightest graze of his teeth on her hood, and uselessly she tries to buck her hips.Aymeric is merciless, holding her down, sweat gathering beneath the leather of his glove. Each breath catches on a moan until she is filling the space with a long continuous throaty cry, reduced to babbling and begging, and crying for  _ more _ ,  _ faster _ ,  _ please. _ He groans into her folds, and a long finger parts her inner lips, pushing inside, pumps once before being joined by a second stretching her, reaching deep inside, curling within and stars burst before her closed eyes with how hard they’re screwed shut. He fucks her with his fingers, hard and fast making her scream his name broken by her gasps for air. He sucks her clit between his lips, between his teeth, slipping a third finger inside of her. The stretch setting her ablaze, nails tearing marks into the varnish of the wood. 

“I’m cu--I need--so--close.” Aymeric redoubles his efforts and Shiloh manages to open her eyes, to see how his shoulders flex, to see his half lidded eyes mad with lust, growling into her sopping folds, he catches her watching, commanding her without words to keep her eyes on him. Her orgasm tears through her with a soundless scream, legs clamping around his head, inner walls squeezing against his relentless fingers that don’t stop, riding her through the high. Until, finally, her muscles release, leaving her boneless and gasping, he finally slows, she twitches when he pulls his fingers from her sated quim. His lips glisten with her slick, and he wipes his chin with the arm of his glove. 

“My dearest.” he husks, straightening, he touches her face pushing sweat damp hair from her eyes, “my love.” 

Shiloh feels the depth of his emotion because it mirrors her own. “Aymeric,” she sits up, cupping his face and kisses him in answer, pouring her heart into him, tasting herself on his tongue. “Twelve know, I love you, only you.” She drops her forehead against his, “I need you inside of me.” She whispers against his lips. 

“Fury take me.” He whispers.

“The Fury,” Shiloh drops a hand to his straining cock, and grips him through the layers dragging a moan from his lips, “can wait her turn.” 

Aymeric chuckles and shakes his head, unbuttoning his trousers, he stands, the bulge of his cock beckoning, and Shiloh tugs pants and smalls down his narrow hips. He springs free, head engorged on a thick shaft. Shiloh pumps him, root to tip, bends to catch the pre slipping out the slit of his head with her tongue. Aymeric leans against the high back of his chair, carding his fingers through her hair as she sucks his head into her mouth, using both her hands to stroke him in counter point. He pants above her, covered in a sheen of sweat. 

“As much, as I would love to experience your tender ministrations, I’ve a mind to fuck you sensless my dear, Warrior of Light.” Shiloh releases him with a pop and cranes up to look at him. Hearing him speak thus, stokes the embers of her flame, and she gives him a final pump, and watches his brow furrow, and eyes flutter shut. 

“By all means, Lord Commander, I am at your disposal, fuck me however you see fit.” She answers, more than ready for him, he smiles down at her. 

“I intend to.” He touches the necklace he’d gifted her and draws back, tugging her to her feet, pulling her by the hands, bringing her back to the bearskin rug, he sits spreading his legs out encouraging Shiloh to straddle him, she offers no resistance, dropping to his lap, into his arms, into his kiss. The fire has dropped to embers, glowing red in the low light. Aymeric’s cock is trapped between their bodies, Shiloh rolls her hips feeling his silken shaft between her folds. Aymerics arms curl around her lower back, gloved hand and bare fingers splayed against her spine, brushing the top of her tail, pulling her close, rolling his hips in turns. 

“Lay back, Aymeric.” She whispers in his ear, biting at the tip. 

“Yes.” He answers back. 

His hooded gaze bores into her, hands on her stockinged thighs gripping her tightly as she braces on his stomach, skin jumping at her touch. Shiloh guides his lengths and he bucks up, eager, at the end of his indomitable patience. She lifts her hips and lines him up with her entrance. Aymeric watches, mouth open, panting, as she sinks down onto him. 

“Shiloh, you’re so- Ah - tight.” his hands shift from her thighs to her hips. 

He fills her, the stretch exquisit. She wishes she could capture this moment in time forever, always remember the look of unrestrained pleasure on Aymerics beautiful face. He rolls his hips up in question, dark lashes framing his lust blown eyes. She answers with a deep grind, leaning against the tight muscles of his stomach, and rolls again, and again, until they fall into a sweet rhythm.Every lift and fall, each pass of his cock urging the pleasure between them to yet another peak. 

“Shiloh, I..I need.” he grinds out. And she can feel him coiled beneath her, all his strength, and power ready to burst forth in a storm of need and hunger. Shiloh leans back, keeping her pace slow, steady, her hips riding the waves of her slow build, fire and levin dancing across her skin, bursting in her core, pulling her ever closer to completion. She can feel his eyes, so she touches herself, cups her breasts, pinching her nipples, dropping a hand to her pearl, circles her clit in agonizing circles. “Fury, please.” He begs, his dark voice needy, hungry, desperate. 

“As I recall, you said-ah, you would fuck me sensless, Lord Commander. I await your pleasure.” She gives another slow roll of her hips. Feels his hands tighten on her hips, she bites her lower lip in an attempt to stop the playful smirk. Finding absolute delight in teasing him, in watching the tight string of his patience snap. 

Aymeric surges up, catching her in a fierce kiss, gasping against her lips. “Minx.” 

He pulls out as he deposits her on her back, hooking her leg with his elbow, and buries his cock in a decisive and swift movement giving her no time to catch her breath as his hips piston into her aching cunt again and again, pushing the breath from her lungs, every exhale a pleasured scream. 

“Is this what you wanted?” He growls against her horn, “To be fucked into the floor of my office?” 

“Yes, Gods yes, Aymeric.” She sobs out, pleasure flooding her every nerve. 

He mouths her throat, and like any good commander takes advantage of her every weakness, Shiloh’s eyes roll in decadent pleasure. He ruts into her, and when she starts to writhe under him so close to the edge, he fits a hand between them to rub tight circles around her pearl, urging her on, whispering filth against the scales of her horn, calling her a good girl, teling how well she takes his cock, and how pretty she would be painted with his seed. The timber of his voice a low growl, his hips, and cock unrelenting and merciless. And Shiloh can only moan and cry, and gasp his name, agree to his every debauched word, beg for him until her voice is hoarse. Her back bows, her walls squeeze, hands bury into damp ebony locks and pull as she comes undone at the seams, unsure where she ends and he begins, starbursts in her eyes, and she gasps, and gasps, and gasps. Finally sobbing as her body comes down, but Aymeric hasn’t stopped, her undoing urges him to press the advantage, driving her further, another orgasm bursting on the heels of her last, leaving her a boneless, twitching mass. Until finally his hips stutter, and his rhythm becomes discordant. 

“Fill me Aymeric.” She husks her encouragement in his ear, and he moans, thrusts once, twice, drops his forehead to Shiloh’s shoulder and his body stills, and his cock twitches inside of her as he spills within. 

They stay entwined in each other's arms, breathing hard, Aymeric still hilted. Shiloh pets his hair, his ears, his cheek, nuzzling his jaw with her nose. Aymeric’s face drifts towards her touch, long lashes closed against flushed cheeks, his hair utterly disheveled, beautiful in the afterglow. 

“I can..clean.” He rolls onto his side, slipping from her pleasantly sore cunt.

“Shh, it can wait.” She tucks into his arms, and she feels him press a kiss to the top of her head, before resting his chin on her crown. Shiloh drifts off, the ordeal of battling through the blizzard and and the blissful postcoital glow all the encouragement she needs to rest. Vaguely she feels Aymeric leave her side, and feels a weight laid over her. There is a rustle and pop that comes from the fireplace, another log on the fire her mind registers tiredly. 

“I’ll be right back.” He whispers against her cheek, she hums in acknowledgement and promptly falls asleep. 

It couldn’t have been but a quarter bell before he returns, stroking her cheek and kissing her brow to wake her. She blinks up at him bleary eyed, but he shushes her. 

“I fetched some items that might make our little overnight more comfortable.” He fits a pillow under her head, and pulls his mantle from her body. She hears his inhale, before he sets a warm and wet cloth between her legs and begins cleaning the musky, sticky mess. Still sensitive, each pass of the cloth pulls a quiet gasp from her. 

“Aymeric.” She whines gently grasping, his now bare, forearm. 

“You are insatiable, as lovely as you are in the throes of pleasure, you need to sleep.” 

“Don’t go,” she grabs his hand, “it’s too late to work.” She mumbles when he pulls away again.

“I wouldn’t dare.” He lays an old worn quilt over her, likely from one of the empty sickbeds, and then a second, and slides in next to her.

“Good.” Her eyes are already drifting closed, reaching for him blindly, he wraps around her and she hums, content. “Happy Starlight, Aymeric.” 

“Happy Starlight, Shiloh.” He kisses her forehead. 

  
  


* * *

Handeloup is one of the first to make it to the congregation, though not before Lucia, and Aymeric, if the Lord Commander had bothered to leave at all. He notes the coat and scarves laid out on the war table, and raises an eyebrow. 

“Lucia?” He calls out. 

“Shh!” He turns towards the shush, and finds the Temple Knights second peeking through the Lord Commander’s office door. She waves him over, but lifts a finger to her lips. 

As quietly as he can in full plate, he joins her at the door, wondering what could possibly be so special about finding Aymeric de Borel asleep at his desk, again. Lucia moves back to allow him a look. There is no one at the desk. He scans the room, to find quite the nest of blankets in front of the fireplace. Lord Commander sleeping soundly, and in his arms a blond head, ivory horns, Mistress Mitka. He can’t help the wide grin that splits his face. About bloody time those two made good on their feelings. He leans back pointing excitedly, and Lucia only nods her head in happy agreement. She turns her head up the hallways and points with her thumb, Handeloup nods and gently closes the door. 

Halfway up the hallway Lucia takes his arm and shakes it in excitement. Handeloup chuckles. 

“She must have arrived after I left.” She says, excited. 

“You mean through that storm?” He crosses his arms, only to think better of it, “She is the warrior of light, I suppose, she, if anyone, could have.” He starts working on the duty roster, “still, good to know the Lord Commander and the Warrior of Light got what they wanted this Starlight. Fury knows they deserve it.” 

“I never took you for the sentimental type, Handeloup.” Lucia pats him on the shoulder and he smiles. 

“Well, helps that they just won me a loooot of gil.” 

Lucia barks a laugh as she climbs the steps, Handeloup starts humming a jolly Starlight tune. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed this fic, I would love to hear from you down at the [Bookclub](https://discord.gg/enabling-debauched-xivfic) Happy Holidays!


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